In This Desperate Drought
by Min Daae
Summary: Sandor/Sansa, on the road. Written for the 'trust' prompt at Porn Battle VIII.


"Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I do."

He growled, softly. "Perhaps you shouldn't." She shifted, resting her head on his chest.

"Probably not. Do you mind?" The look he gave her was so scathing that she had to laugh. "Sandor…"

"You," he informed her dryly, "Are an idiot." Sansa laughed again, and smiled the vapid little-girl smile she had perfected for Petyr.

"Who, me?" Sandor looked, if possible, even more exasperated.

"If you continue that I will turn you over my knee and spank you, birdling." Sansa tried not to let her breath quicken at the thought, and mostly succeeded.

The small cottage they were in had been abandoned for months. Since Petyr's death, they'd found many of its like, traveling north. To the Wall, Sandor said, at least they could find her half brother there, somewhere.

The first time had been coincidence, really – when she had slipped into sleep and off her mare while riding, and fallen into the snow. She'd been near freezing when he realized she'd fallen behind and went back to get her. The next she'd known she'd been lying under a heap of blankets with her back pressed to his body and his arms around her, and she hadn't thought about it before kissing him when she realized what he'd done.

"Are we going to be able to ride tomorrow?" She asked. Sandor shrugged. It had snowed every day since, and even Stranger was finding it hard to forge through the drifts, let alone her smaller mare.

"If the fires of hell come from the ground, maybe." The winds howled in a strangely portending way, and she shivered.

"Don't say that."

"Why? Scared?" He sounded amused, and she glared at him.

Asking never worked. He laughed at her when she asked. And when she tried to act the coquette he laughed as well. Leaning against his side, she sighed, a little, wondering how best to initiate things.

Sansa could sense him laughing at her again and felt angry. Abruptly, she flipped over and tugged his head sharply sideways by the hair, and kissed him. It felt odd, still, the contrast between smooth and burned skin under her lips – but that ceased to matter when he shifted over her and kissed her back, powerfully. She gasped a little, breathless, and heard the rumble of laughter in his chest.

She crept her hands up to his shoulders, holding them, and let her eyes widen. He was watching her again. "Birdling, don't you ever tire of this?"

She allowed herself a little smile. "Do you?"

He kissed her again, and this time she felt the responding warmth between her legs for the heat and hardness of his firm body pressed to hers. She whimpered, a little, and Sandor pulled back enough to snort as his thumb pressed at her pearl. Sansa quivered.

"You don't need me for this. You can take care of yourself with your own hand."

"It's not the same," she breathed, trying to undo his pants with suddenly clumsy fingers. He pulled back and stripped himself, and she let her eyes drink in his naked body. Even for the scars, he had muscle, power, strength that had their own kind of beauty.

"No, you're damn well right. One's less serious." His thumb pressed more firmly and she squirmed, legs spreading of their own volition. "Far less serious."

"You don't stop," she pointed out, keeping her hips deliberately still. "You don't say no."

He laughed. "Of course I don't. Why would I say no to you, birdling?" His hands ran down her slender thighs. "I just don't think you realize what you're doing." His thumb rubbed at her and she whimpered more loudly. Sandor withdrew his hand and a moment later she felt his cock-head tease at her entrance.

"Do it," she whispered, breathlessly. He laughed and pulled her dress away from her breasts, bent his mouth to one and suckled at her nipple, tongue flicking in circles. Sansa could feel herself tremble.

He moved up again swiftly, threw her legs over his shoulders where he knelt between them, and thrust deep into her with a low moan. Sansa cried out, stretching to fit all of him. He didn't kiss her this time, and a moment later she understood as he grasped her thighs with a grunt and began fucking her hard and sweet and slow.

She sang for every thrust, his restraining hands stopping her movement, but she could feel the rub against her pearl and quivered and bucked as much as she could, and where she couldn't move she yelled. She climaxed before he did, to her surprise, though he followed her two thrusts later with a sharp exhalation. She lay on her back, panting, breathless, and rolled her hips to hold him deeper in her. Because.

Sandor pulled out of her abruptly. "Do you still trust me?" He asked, voice harsh. She took a few moments to catch her breath, the ache between her legs settling into a kind of comfortable feeling of satisfaction.

"Yes," she murmured breathlessly. After a moment, he wavered and came back to her, lay down and stretched out. Sansa shifted and let one hand explore his chest, eyes a little wide. "Yes, I trust you."

He shook his head. "Stupid birdling," he said, but he sounded vaguely pleased.


End file.
